


Now Echo, Assonance

by azure_horizon



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Male Friendship (Morse & Thursday), Post-Season/Series 02, Realisation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure_horizon/pseuds/azure_horizon
Summary: In a quiet moment after Joan returns, Thursday can’t help but ask and Morse can’t help but reply.





	Now Echo, Assonance

**Now Echo, Assonance**

 

“She told me.”

Morse stills at the words, the pen half clicked in his grip and he can’t quite bring himself to turn around.

“Who told you what?”

He plays ignorant; it’s not an easy fit and he doesn’t wear it well but he hopes his stillness is enough to deter any further conversation. Knowing Thursday, knowing how he feels about his family, Morse knows that won’t happen. The room around them is empty, the dust well settled on the desks, the mustiness of a long day lingering in the whorls of air that drift along the corridors.

“About… about the hospital.” The pen unclicks and Morse swallows. This is not the conversation he expected. “Actually,” Thursday continued, his voice a forced jovial, “she told her mum and Win told me.”

“Oh, right,” Morse manages. He still can’t bring himself to turn around. He knows that the sight of Thursday will break the dam that’s already splintering, will unclog the hole in his head and let the remnants of that day flood through him. Memories of Joan, pale and thin and battered, lying on a hospital bed; memories of being told they’d be able to try again, of realising what the doctor meant.

Of realising she’d named him next of kin.

“Yeah,” is all Thursday replies with and Morse can hear him shuffling. He lowers his hand to the desk, the pen dropping with a dull thud onto the waxed wood. The dim glow of the desk lamp flickers as he stares at it, his heart trotting along at the same pace. “You were there.” It’s not quite a question, so Morse doesn’t respond – couldn’t, probably, even if he wanted to. “I… Thank you.”

Morse turns then, nodding quickly, an effort to avoid Thursday’s gaze.

“No, of cou- you’re welcome.”

He hears Thursday turn to go, then hesitate and Morse is frozen again, a sculpture in the dimness permeating the room.

“I…” Thursday hesitates again and Morse is sure he can feel the older man’s gaze locked onto his back. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

And there it is. The almost whisper echoes in the room and Morse’s heart is suddenly very interested in giving him a coronary. He’s not sure which answer to give: no implies slight; yes incurs wrath. His hand, for all that it is resting on the desk, trembles and the breath he lets out wavers across the space between them.

He looks up then, gathering the last of his courage around him like a cloak.

“I don’t think it’s possible for me not to be.”

And there that is, finally. The consonance strangely mellifluous despite itself.

He holds Thursday’s gaze, suddenly unencumbered by the guilt, the confusion that surrounded the words in his head. Thursday purses his lips, his gaze dipping slightly – not away from Morse, not entirely and Morse feels his breath hitch again.

“Right, then.” He nods and turns back into his office and Morse can’t help but release his breath in one loud rushing gush. “Drop us at home?”

And that’s that. Morse isn’t sure what he expected – he’s not exactly sure he expected anything, given that he had never proposed to say that out loud, ever. He’s not entirely sure he’d have said them even if she had agreed to marry him all those months ago.

“Of course,” he manages, finally, once Thursday has come out of his office, ready for home.

As they drive, it’s like any other night, like nothing seismic has occurred. And Morse feels… well, he feels normal too. Like some of the edges have worn down, softened and flattened out and filled him up. At the house, Thursday pauses, his hand on the door handle.

“You’re a good man, Morse.” Surprised, Morse nods, a little bemused. “You’re a good man.”

As the door thuds shut, Morse can’t help but smile. 


End file.
